


One Year Later

by Evilpixie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Clark is an alpha and Bruce another alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053151) by [Evilpixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie). 



> As always, this story is set within the context of the omegaverse.

Clark opened the door and was instantly hit by the fierce bodily aroma that filled the bedroom. A deep dark earthy scent that carried with it an angry animalistic promise as primal and powerful as the air before a thunderstorm. It wafted off the other man’s skin, poured from his pheromone saturated breath, and drew Clark in like a thrill seeker towards a growling volcano.

 

Bruce looked up at Clark entered. His eyes were sharp and swirling with what could be battle lust, muscles twitching, and throat working as he constantly swallowed his own overproducing saliva. That last piece of information was the clue that allowed Clark to deduce why he had been summoned here.

 

What purpose he was here to serve.

 

And how little romance there was in it.

 

Hormone charged saliva was an alpha’s a biological weapon used to aid an omega’s alpha addiction and imprint a unique mark – a bite – on an omega gland; the rudimentary method by which an alpha staked a claim on an unbound omega. The saliva itself was an indicator of arousal; as involuntary as an erection and about as subtle.

 

Bruce, at that moment, was sporting both.

 

His scent screaming aggressive arousal.

 

Bruce Wayne was an extreme high level alpha; his body at the mercy of his own natural hormones constantly balancing on the verge of overdose. Despite this there were very few things on the face of the planet that could scratch the man’s iron self control. Fewer again that could put him in this state. Only one Clark could think of that would drive Bruce to lock himself in the bedroom in the back of the batcave, call him, and watch him now on the verge of losing control with the tell tale wet lips.

 

“Jason.” It wasn’t really a question.

 

“He went into heat today,” Bruce responded; voice haggard and harsh.

 

“Is he…?”

 

“He’s fine,” the alpha snapped. “I’m not a fucking monster. I can take care of my own damn pack.” Strained. “I’m not going to let him get hurt again.”

 

“I know.”

 

“It’s…” Bruce’s shoulders heaved and he swallowed. “Just… hard… sometimes.”

 

Clark took a careful step forward. Again. “I know.”

 

“No you don’t know!” The other man lurched to his feet. “You may be an alpha, Clark, but you don’t have a high level omega who’s also your _son_ presenting to you every chance he gets.” A hand through his hair. “He died because of me! It was my fa—I was meant to be the one to teach him how to be strong, fuck what everyone says about omegas, but he just begs for attention and when he doesn’t get it he kills. And I can’t help him because I end up like this!” He punched the wall. “A drooling fucking _dog_!”

 

“He doesn’t th—”

 

“He _sees_ it, Clark.” The man snarled. “He goddamned _smells_ it. He knows he gets to me. He knows. He’s not going to give up.”

 

“If he’s att—”

 

A harsh bark of laughter. “He’s not attracted to me. It’s a power game and he thinks the only way an omega can have power is sexually.” Miserably. “That’s how badly I failed him as a father. He doesn’t even respect his own right to his own damn body.”

 

Clark gave up trying to talk and stayed standing in the doorway, aware he was deep within another alpha’s territory, aware of the stress penetrating the other man’s scent, and aware what purpose he had been brought here to serve. It was a role he had been playing for months now; a way for Bruce to let out his pent up hormones without subjecting himself or another person to a possible hormonal addiction – a bond – that would form between an alpha and an omega.

 

Clark was an alpha; their shared castes chemically incompatible, their unspoken agreement void of emotion, and the S on his chest an indicator that he couldn’t be hurt no matter how much Bruce pushed. In theory he was perfect; an avenue for Bruce to offload onto without risk.

 

Physically. Only physically.

 

Clark tried to tell himself it was enough.

 

The man paced the room one more time before glaring at him with dark delicious intent. “Kneel.”

 

Clark obeyed. Fell to his knees, tucked his arms behind his back, and tipped back his head to submissively show his neck. It was a pose usually taken by an omega giving themselves to an alpha or a pack mate surrendering to another. The dark flash in Bruce’s eyes told him whatever he had intended when he ordered him down he had accomplished.

 

“Here.”

 

Clark sped towards the other man, moving from the doorway, and knelt at his feet. The door swung shut plunging the room into a sudden all encompassing darkness. Bruce’s hands found him anyway, then his mouth, and then his teeth.

 

Somehow they ended up on the bed and Bruce was on top, grinding down _hard_ , and kissing him with a throttling amount of tongue. The near overwhelming taste of their mixing alpha charged saliva was mind bending, weight of his body hot enough to burn, and the feel of Bruce’s rolling muscles pinning him down into the firm mattress fiercely erotic. Heat on heat. Hard on hard. Alpha on alpha.

 

Taboo. _Gay_. Beautiful.

 

Teeth. Force. Hunger.

 

Savage. Wild. Release.

 

Bruce.

 

Clark scrambled to toss his cape aside, drag off his shirt, and kick off his boots and pants together. The other man growled his appreciation as his hands found naked flesh, scraped his teeth across indestructible skin, and humped hard into his hip.

 

“I want…”

 

Clark knew what he wanted. Despite everything the man did to separate himself from the stereotype he was still, in some ways, a typical high level alpha. He wanted to dominate, to control, to _claim_ … and if he couldn’t do that in battle he wanted to do it sexually. The other alpha didn’t even try to hide his instinctual aggressive arousal – visible in the darkness only with the aid of Clark’s powers – as he felt Clark open his legs in invitation.

 

“Me too,” Clark hoarsed.

 

Clark had had sex with alphas before Bruce. He was one of the few people lucky enough to be attracted to every sexual caste, every sex, and gender equally. Bruce wasn’t so simple. When they’d first fallen into bed in the Watchtower after a mission gone wrong and set right it was clear the man had very little to no experience dealing with someone sharing his sexual caste. Clark wasn’t surprised. Bruce Wayne was an infamous alpha constantly in the media drunk and surrounded by swarms of omegas; all beautiful, exotic, and no doubt of the highest levels the caste had to offer. Batman, in poor contrast, wasn’t shy about chasing the feisty omega Catwoman across the rooftops. He was a sexual creature – obviously very omega inclined – and Clark was this small strange divergence; seemingly the sole exception to the rule.

 

At least, a small part of him hoped so.

 

That small, greedy, desperate, part of him wanted to be the only alpha Bruce ever slept with, the only one he was ever sexually attracted to, the only one to know what it was like to feel Bruce probe his entrance, spit some of the excess saliva onto his hand, and smother it around and inside him rim.

 

“ _God_ , Bruce…”

 

The only one…

 

The other alpha tested his insides with a blunt probing finger, grunted in satisfaction when Clark consciously relaxed open, and stooped forward to lap at the head of Clark’s cock once almost as if in reward.

 

“You— _ah_ —you don’t need to do that,” he wriggled on the man’s fingers. “I can take it. You can’t hurt me.”

 

Bruce grunted in confirmation, folded Clark’s legs back further, and took position on top of him. Entered in one slow roll of hip; the elastic rim of his pants hooked down beneath his straining member. Long, curved, and touched with the hint of a knot at the base. Clark felt that length sink into him, felt that curve scrape against latent pleasure centres, and that semi inflated bulbous gland push through the pucker of muscle with unforgiving force.

 

“I want,” Bruce hissed. “I want…”

 

“It’s okay,” Clark breathed. “I-I want it too. Come on.”

 

The man pinned him down with an angry growl.

 

Clark didn’t give orders. Not here. Not now. Not with Bruce on top of him. Inside him. Fucking him. Fucking him hard enough to hurt a human.

 

Biting him harder.

 

Kissing him like the taste of alpha was as attractive to him as it was to Clark.

 

Just the idea of what was happening to him – the sheer submission to the other alpha, Bruce’s gorgeous body hunched forward and humping into him, the mess of moisture around both of their mouths as they kissed – was enough to have him racing towards the messy precipice of orgasm.

 

Bruce caught his cock – Clark’s shrunken knot – and squeezed it in warning.

 

_Not yet._

 

He whined in denial and bucked his hips hopelessly into the man’s pelvis pounding like a piston into him. The hot, dry, friction was deliciously _agonisingly_ raw, unchastened, and real. A humbling, humanising, feeling that grounded him to the rich, earthy, wonderful world until there was nothing but the dark room, the cock inside him, and Bruce’s scent sharp, strong, and savage swirling around him.

 

The man important enough to drown out the world.

 

Bruce was panting into his mouth; breath filled with the intoxicating smell of his sex spiced hormones. Then grunting. Then hunching forward with a moan.

 

Hips smacked against his arse, scorching hot semen sprayed into him, and the other alpha’s knot swelled; filling him, trapping his come inside Clark, and locking them together.

 

Throughout it all Clark watched him. Watched him orgasm. Watched the way the stiffness around his mouth finally faded, the lines around his eyes flickered and eased, and pupils contract and then gape wide in the darkness. He was the most beautiful thing Clark had ever seen. Hair a mess, lips steaming wet, and eyes blinking blindly down at him.

 

Bruce Wayne undone.

 

The man shuddered once more and collapsed down on top of him with a groan of satisfaction. “You have… no idea… _no_ idea… what you do for me.” Arms tightened around him. “Clark…” Voice a low, tempting, baritone and stubble lined cheek scraping against his neck.

 

It was – Clark tried to remind himself – an alpha’s instinct to care for who they were knotted to. He had felt it a thousand times himself. The _tug_ that told him to cherish the creature captured and impaled on his cock. That was what Bruce was responding to now. Instinct. Just instinct. It didn’t mean anything. _This_ didn’t mean anything. No matter how much he wanted it to. No matter how much he loved Bruce.

 

Because he did, he realised with a sickening lurch. He couldn’t keep repressing the almost elemental feeling inside him. He loved Bruce Wayne with a fury that frightened him, with a strength that surpassed him, and with an aged familiarity that told him he had loved Bruce in one way or another for years. He had loved him when all he knew him as was the scentless Batman. A spark. He had loved him when he had peeled back his lead lined cowl and looked at him with unexpected piercing blue eyes. A flame. And he loved him now as he gazed up through the darkness at him. A long since unstoppable inferno raging hidden inside him.

 

Something he could never show.

 

Because if Bruce were to see it, if he were to understand what this was for Clark, he would withdraw. End their arrangement. And Clark didn’t think he could simply go on without these estranged sexual encounters anymore. He didn’t want to return to a life without Bruce _like this_.

 

On him, in him, and reaching down to fist his cock.

 

“No, it’s okay,” Clark warded him away. “Just… this… this is good.” _Just let me look at you for a moment…_

 

The man scowled. “I’m not just going to fuck you and not have you come, Clark. I’m not that thoughtless. I’m not the one in he—” he stopped suddenly and frowned; guilt etched onto every line of his face. “Is Jason alright?”

 

Clark looked through the layers of the house above them until he found the young omega. Jason had pulled the curtains from the wall, attacked the force proof glass, destroyed all the furniture he could, flooded the bathroom, wrecked the paint on one wall, ripped up some carpet, brought down the light fitting, and was finally curled up in the wreckage – huddled under a curtain – well and truly unconscious. On the ruined wall the words _go fuck your alien fag_ were scratched into the paint. The two pack betas – Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth – stood in the hallway discussing the situation in hushed tones.

 

“He’s…” Clark hesitated, “… done it again. To his room.” Didn’t elaborate further.

 

Bruce sighed. “Damn it.”

 

Clark tried to joke. “He’s got to be the most extreme nester I’ve ever seen.”

 

Without a hint of mirth. “He’s not nesting. He’s attention seeking.” A weary frown. “He _wants_ me to punish him. Wants the excuse to kneel. Wants the chance to…” he trailed off.

 

Clark hooked his ankles together behind Bruce’s back. “I know.” It was the same two words he’d been saying since he walked in the door. He wasn’t part of the man’s pack, hardly knew any of them, and so didn’t want to say anymore. It felt intrusive to presume anything about the small collection of people upstairs especially their sole pack omega; the root of so much Bruce had gone through over the last few months.

 

The returning Robin, the Red Hood, the first adult omega Bruce had ever had to deal with within his pack.

 

The cause of them coming together.

 

“He thinks…” Bruce muttered wearily. “That’s what he is.”

 

Clark arched up and kissed him; a small hopeful press of lip on lip that he tried to inject with all the support he couldn’t say. _Here for you_.

 

_Love you…_

 

Bruce accepted the kiss, deepened it, sexualised it. But that didn’t matter. If this was what Bruce wanted from him, what he needed, Clark would be there for him. He would let it be enough.

 

Because even in this capacity there was nothing on the face of the planet quite like Bruce Wayne.

 

Addictive not because of his hormones or sexual caste because just because it was him. _This_ man. The man who had the strength of will to give himself to his city, to turn something that should have destroyed him into a weapon, and create Batman out of nothing but a faltering promise on a pair of aging graves. To pull the Justice League into line with a look, command his own pack, and still have enough love and sense of Justice left to not take advantage of the boy turned adult omega upstairs.

 

His best friend.

 

And that, Clark knew, was more than enough.

 

Bruce ground into him and he curled up to take it, opened himself and his mouth greedily for the other man, and grunted as he felt Bruce’s knot graze and tug at his insides. There was nothing in his physiology as an alpha, a man, or a Kryptonian that explained why this was pleasurable. But it was. Keenly so.

 

He felt the loss half an hour later when Bruce’s knot went down and he withdrew.

 

Clark kissed him feverishly one more time and watched as the man rolled back onto his knees and stoked his softening shaft. Once. Twice. Then, as if he could see in the darkness as well as Clark, he lent forward and swallowed Clark’s cock. He was achingly hard, dribbling pre-come, and his knot was tight around his base; wanting to expand. The feel of the man’s hot – gorgeously wet – mouth tight around him was almost enough to undo him.

 

Bruce sucked, head moving up and down, and tongue pressing hard against his underside to lap with skilled precision at his head at the crest of every stroke. His hand found his base, enclose him in his warm fist, and soon Clark was grunting, thrusting involuntarily into the man’s mouth, and grasping at his rapidly fraying control… because, as much as he too tried to defy stereotype, he was also an alpha and _Christ_ it felt good to _fuck_ …

 

“Bruce… Bruce… wait, I…”

 

The man’s mouth drew off him with frighting speed. “What?” He growled. “Why don’t you want to come for me?”

 

“What…?” Clark was dizzy with pleasure. “No I…”

 

“Would you rather fuck me?”

 

Clark’s stomach twisted. They had been having sex for months but most of it had been non penetrative. Just mutual hand jobs, the occasional oral, and in situations like this he happily bottomed to allow Bruce to mime and mimic mating with an omega. While he had tentatively explored the possibility Bruce hadn’t shown any interest in bottoming which, for an alpha, wasn’t surprising. Most alphas didn’t even give head. An inert programming either instilled on them by biology or society to think the only relevant penis in a sexual encounter was their own. Not an omega’s, a beta’s, or even another alpha’s.

 

“Would you?” Clark’s voice was dry. “Not that I’m asking but… I didn’t think you would.”

 

Bruce took this as an answer, swung around, and mounted the head of the bed. “You can see in the dark,” he told him as he pulled his pants down around his folded knees planted on the mattress. “You know how to do this too?”

 

Clark’s cock, abused and denied, throbbed at the sight of the man’s presented arse. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Bruce’s broad shoulders tapered down a long spine to narrow hips, the firm muscled cleft opened around his entrance, and scarred thighs parted. Clark’s willpower failed him in the wake of that invitation and he crawled forward on the bed, greedily tasted the alpha flavoured sweat on the other man’s skin with a tongue along his spine, and spread his cheeks to run a thumb across the small pucker of muscle he found here.

 

Bruce stiffened and then forcibly relaxed.

 

Clark caught a hold of himself. “Hey, you know we don’t have to or…”

 

“For fuck’s sake Clark, I want you to come. What do you want?”

 

“I… it was fine before. Whatever you want.”

 

“Whatever _I_ want? When did you become so passive aggressive? What do _you_ want?”

 

A touch harder than he intended. “I’m here to help you, Bruce. I’m not going to fuck you if you don’t want it.”

 

“I know damn it,” the man barked, “but I want… I want it to be mutually beneficial. I don’t want you to be the hero that swoops in and saves me. I want you to enjoy it.”

 

Defensively. “I do enjoy it.”

 

“Then come on! I fucked you.” He arched his spine, clumsily mimicking an omega. “Fuck me.”

 

An instruction, spoken in the same growly bass of the Batman. An aggressive, dominating, sound at invigorating odds to the position he was in now; almost bent over, welcoming, and cock hanging with no intention of further use between his legs; the picture of sexual submission. _Alpha. Taboo_. Yet still Bruce, still in charge, still leaving Clark the space to surrender just a touch of the control he held to this man, this body, and the pleasure they could take from each other.

 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Clark hoarsed, knowing Bruce wouldn’t listen. “Have you done this before?” He traced the man’s entrance with his thumb; palming and spreading the cheeks of his arse. “God, please just tell me if I’m hurting you.”

 

Bruce grunted and shuffled his knees further apart on the mattress.

 

Clark traced his rim a few more times and pushed his thump in.

 

Bruce hadn’t done this before. He knew that instantly. The man was too tight, letting him take too much control, and the way he gasped and shuddered as he was penetrated suggested it was a sensation he wasn’t used to. Clark had, in the past, teasingly stroked him there, pressed his erection through their clothes against his behind, and groped the man’s arse as they ground together. He had never been inside him. Never seriously considered the fleeting chance that he might one day be allowed that kind of access.

 

Let alone be the other man’s first top.

 

Bruce’s fisted the headboard; muscles twitching, tense, and nervous.

 

Again. “Just… tell me if it hurts. Please.”

 

“Fuck me.” Another order. “ _Now_.”

 

Clark hesitated for a moment longer before he obeyed; pushed a finger into the other man and tested the tight dry clench of his inner walls. Bruce twitched, breathed, and then slowly adjusted to take him. Clark ran the first fingers of his other hand through his mouth; gathering the excess saliva, and switched hands to push two wet fingers into him instead of one.

 

Fifteen minutes later he had almost four fingers in him and had found his prostate.

 

Bruce shuddered in surprise, hunched forward – abandoning any mockery of omegahood to hump the air between his legs with a savage jerk of hip – and growled with pleasure; a long, low, wanton sound. Clark put his leg between Bruce’s to give him something to find friction against while he continued stretching, teasing, and slicking him up. By the time he withdrew to line his cock up he was painfully hard, shaking on every exhale, and Bruce had sprung back to life and was leaking pre-come onto the pillows beneath him.

 

The man hissed through his teeth as Clark finally pushed into him.

 

 _God_ he was tight. Almost uncomfortably so. But he was taking him. Deep. Deeper. Deep enough Clark felt the head of his shaft assault the far walls of his rectum. Deep enough to fit his deflated knot into him. Deep enough Clark’s pelvis pressed against the flesh of his arse. Deep enough to take all of him.

 

Clark paused.

 

Bruce was gripping the headboard with a white knuckled fists, his breathing hitched, and shoulders shaking.

 

“Are you…?”

 

“Fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Insides spasming around him.

 

Clark ignored the obvious lie, reached around, and began tugging at the other man’s cock. To his surprise it didn’t take long. Bruce groaned, clearly torn between holding his body rigid and thrusting into Clark’s hand, and after a short while he came with a shout for the second time that night; knotting Clark’s fist and ruining the bedding below him. Their positions meant Clark couldn’t see Bruce orgasm… but for the first time he could _feel_ it. He felt him tense, tighten, and then relax with a long, drawn out, sound. Felt his insides shiver, clench, and soften around him. Felt his body accept, in a wave of pleasure, the length inside it.

 

He was too much for Clark to hold back from any longer.

 

He began thrusting. Shallow at first, then broader, then in a motion that almost withdrew him entirely before he drove himself back in.

 

“Tell me if I’m hurting you… God so good… tell me please… fuck you’re perfect… please just… if I’m hurting you…”

 

 “Yes,” Bruce responded breathlessly; muscles twitching. “So good. Don’t fucking stop. Yes.” It was the most words Bruce had ever spoken during sex with him.

 

Clark groaned; pounded into him faster than humanly possible, harder than he had ever fucked anyone, and with enough force to knock him forward against the headboard. He thrust in deeper than he thought he could go as his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. Bruce cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure and shook as he no doubt felt Clark’s semen flood into him – an indecent amount – and knot expand.

 

Bruce clasped his middle. “ _F-fuck_ , I can’t…” he tried to pull off.

 

Guiltily Clark grabbed his hip and hauled him back; aware that his knot was already too large for Bruce to pull off him safely. “You can. It’s okay. I don’t knot as big as you. It’s fine.” Bruce didn’t seem to take any comfort from this. “Sorry. I should have asked. I should have…”

 

“Shut up.”

 

He felt himself inflate to his full size and Bruce groaned; flanks shivering.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Bruce looked unseeing over his shoulder. “Hurts.” Spoken like someone responding to a question about the weather.

 

“Here,” Clark wrapped his arms around him, gently pulled him off the headboard, and fell back with the man facing the same direction on top of him. To his relief he saw Bruce’s own cock was still sporting a fully inflated knot of its own. He hadn’t gone soft. Clark began to play with that knot, trace patterns into the man’s side, and shower his shoulder and neck in kisses.

 

Bruce slowly relaxed, no doubt writing off Clark’s forwardness as instinct, and even after a while began moving his hips; experimenting with the feeling of having a cock and knot in him for the first time.

 

Clark let himself bliss out on the sensation, tightened his hold on the other man, and breathed in the beautiful almost overbearing smell of their jarringly simular scents; the heavy, angry, press of alpha and alpha mixed in with the erotic reminder of what they had been doing; the salty sweet _earthy_ and near overpowering aroma of sex, sweat, and semen. That smell assisted with the weight and feel of Bruce Wayne impaled on him was enough to keep his knot lingering for almost an hour. When it finally shrunk Bruce slowly pulled himself off, turned, and fell back down on top of him; face to face.

 

Clark’s heart stuttered but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to try and kiss him again. Not after they were both done. Still he couldn’t resist reaching around and probing Bruce’s abused entrance; feeling the slack rim, open interior, and the warm come leaking out of him. The tender gaping pathway he had left in his wake.

 

“You have no idea what you do for me…” Bruce muttered sleepily as Clark gently fingered him. “No idea…”

 

“I’m glad I can help,” Clark said, forcing himself not to write anything into those words that wasn’t there. “I know Jason is hard work.”

 

Bruce stiffened, shifted, and sighed. “Yes… Jason…”

 

“So however I ca—”

 

“Just,” Bruce interrupted him for the last time that night. “Sleep now.”

 

He opened his mouth to say something else, decided against it, and obediently settled into the bedding under the hot weight of the other alpha. Something inside him thrilled at the natural assertive dominance the man displayed despite Clark’s fingers still resting against his slowly reshaping opening and the position he was just in; stuffed full of Clark cock, knot, and come.

 

They lay together for what could have been moment or hours drifting between sleep and awake. Clark loosely held the other man, skin tingling at the physical contact, and lungs full of the beautiful, enriching, alpha flavour that was Bruce.

 

The man he loved.

 

The man he would go to whenever he called.

 

The man that had, for a long time now, been important enough to drown out the entire world.

 

Bruce was just using him to cope with Jason’s heats. Just using him. He couldn't... couldn't make something of this that wasn't there. It wouldn't be fair on Bruce to ask for more. He couldn't...

 

Clark closed his eyes and silently swore.

 

He was in trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is written and posted today to mark the one year anniversary of my first tentative step into the omegaverse trope [In the Dark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1053151/chapters/2108002). To celebrate the smut one shot that somehow bloomed into my [DC Omegaverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/70301) I have written this; another smut one shot and the dark twin sister of that original story that became the first chapter of a very long, epic, and ongoing adventure.
> 
> Consider it the Earth-2 to my DC omegaverse if you will.
> 
> To any new and returning readers, I really hoped you enjoyed it! I tried to make it assessable to everyone. Thanks so much for reading and thanks double to those who have been with me on this journey. It's been an epic smutty Superbat year thanks to your amazing support. <3


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